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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848860">Unfamiliar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss'>Laeviss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wranduin! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Biting, Cis Anduin, Dark, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mawduin, Mind Control, Mind Games, Rough Kissing, Trans Male Character, Trans Wrathion, Unhappy Ending, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrathion stakes out the Maw looking for a way to rescue Anduin, but when his chance comes, he gets far more than he bargained for. </p><p>(Dark fic. Please mind the warning and tags!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wranduin! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756381</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unfamiliar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WARNING. This fic contains dark themes including implied non-con, non-con elements, extremely dubious consent at several points throughout, body horror (in reference to Wrathion's creation), and descriptions of marks left on Anduin by the Jailer's torture. If any of this might upset or trigger you, please skip this one. Thank you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wrathion had expected the day to come when he was better prepared—an advance set, his champions armed, a coalition of Alliance and Horde assembled before Torghast’s doors. Instead, it arrived with a breathless agent all but tripping over himself on his way through the door of the hovel the Black Prince had made. </p><p>“The king has been spotted, sir,” the blood elf gasped out. </p><p>Setting aside the cypher he had cracked open on a nearby stone, he leapt to his feet, hand flying to Succession’s hilt. “In the tower?” He stared past the agent’s dark hair to the sky churning in blues and oranges.</p><p>“No, sir. In a cage outside Perdition Hold. He was discarded there some time ago. Ly’thenil is working to free him—”</p><p>Wrathion heard nothing else after that. Staggering, then striding to the door, he pulled back his shoulders and transformed. The stormy air with its acrid stench of doom scared off even the hardiest of mounts, but he was no drake from Coldarra or young gryphon hand-raised at Aerie Peak. </p><p>He had been born from death. It was in his very scales, the cries of siblings lost to his violent creation. </p><p>Baring his teeth and beating his wings, he swept through the fog and trained his crimson eyes upon the Hold looming like a beastly maw over the tortured river of souls. The air beneath him wavered, but he pressed on. A chill crept up his neck, but he roared and poured his flames upon the agents of the Jailer monitoring the ridge. </p><p>A piercing gaze from above fell upon him; he didn’t falter. When his talons skid across the parched earth and his body shrank to its human form, he retained the same fierce determination. </p><p>His crimson blade swept out before him, and his eyes darted from one iron cage to the next. At the other side of the ridge, a huddled form hung suspended, clothed in brown rags and beaten nearly beyond recognition.</p><p>He charged, his heart leaping to his throat. A blond head lifted, and two eyes, bleary and dulled by dehydration, met his. The human’s head bowed between the bars; tears prickled at the corners of Wrathion’s eyes. </p><p>His dear king. What in Titan’s name had they done to him?</p>
<hr/><p>Anduin’s weight was like a sack slung over his shoulder. As they shuffled together through the dust, Wrathion threaded an arm around his waist, forgetting the king’s unsent replies to his letters, the tension in the air the last time they parted in the shadow of his father’s statue. Anduin leaned into him, and Wrathion tightened his grip. </p><p>Licking his chapped lips, the dragon guided him into the door to his hovel and back towards the silk pillows heaped in the corner: the one semblance of comfort in an otherwise-desolate space.</p><p>He guided the king to the floor and pivoted on his heels; Aer’thenil and Ly’thenil were nowhere to be found, and under other circumstances this lack of protection might have troubled him. Now, his mind knew only Anduin, the soft groan that escaped his lips, the way he curled on himself and the sweat that gathered on his brow.</p><p>After pacing the circumference of the room and giving his bag of used cyphers a pointed shake, his eyes fell upon the smooth white stone he had tucked in the opposite corner. The blue swirl rune throbbed with energy, even here, an enchantment the Lord Admiral had perfected, and her ward had slipped into his hands as the guards rushed him from the Ring of Fate.</p><p>If he took it, he could storm into Bolvar’s presence and demand the Maw Walker’s help in transporting the king to the waystone. But that would mean leaving him here, alone, for whatever stretch of time it took to get the mortals to listen to him, and the thought of it sunk like a stone in the pit of Wrathion’s stomach. </p><p>Sweeping the hearthstone away, he opted for the roll of linen bandage he had tucked beneath it. Turning back to Anduin, he sighed, and extended his hand in what he hoped was an easy gesture. </p><p>“You’ll have to forgive me, my dear. The wine stores have long since been depleted, or I’d offer a drink. From the looks of you, it seems you might be in need of one.”</p><p>Anduin grimaced in reply. The way it twisted his beautiful features made Wrathion grit his teeth, but he fought through it, determined to put on a brave face for the sake of the other. “However, if I can get you to lay back, I can help you out of these rags, and perhaps we can check you over for any wounds needing immediate treatment. The instant my agents return, I’ll send for the Maw Walker. Until then, please, just let me try to help you…”</p><p>By the time he reached the end of his speech, his words had died on the tip of his tongue. Another full body wince shook the king’s shoulders, and his hands froze on the hem of his shirt, fumbling and quivering too hard to pull it over his head.</p><p>Wrathion fell to his knees and pried his hands free, before rolling the cloth up off his torso and exposing the pale skin underneath. Between brown smudges of dirt and an orange band around his waist where a rusty chain had been pulled too tight, a field of purple and yellow bruises stained his flesh like lavender ground under heel.</p><p>Pink gashes joined the raised white scars Wrathion had felt forming when he slipped his hands under the prince’s silk blanket back in his bed at the Tavern. Sensitive wounds cut through those Anduin had worked so hard to recover from. Scratches from what could have only been the talons of the Banshee Queen streaked the tops of his arms, and around his neck a dark chain of runes had been burned into his flesh. </p><p>The prince’s heart clenched, and he squeezed closed his eyes, releasing his light hold on Anduin’s shoulder to sweep his thick curls back behind his ear. The momentary distraction gave him an excuse to angle his shoulders away, to blink back his tears, before returning to face the king with a wide smile plastered across his features. </p><p>In the time it took to readjust his expression, Anduin had slumped and sunk down the wall. His greasy hair, rumpled, and, Wrathion discovered, erratically shorn at the back, swung forward to cover his sweat-streaked cheeks. </p><p>Not knowing what else to do, Wrathion reached for those locks, threading his fingers between them and tucking them back.</p><p>A low groan started in Anduin’s chest; resting his palm over his heart and gently rubbing, the dragon did his best to soothe it away. If only their roles were reversed, if only <i>he</i> were the one bruised and broken in the corner, Anduin would know precisely what to do.</p><p>When their eyes met, Wrathion parted his lips, thinking to ask if the king had the strength to call upon the Light. After gazing at his own gaunt face reflected on the black expanse of Anduin’s pupils, however, he thought better of it. </p><p>Setting the roll of bandages down beside the king’s hip, he focused on readjusting his pillows, wedging one between him and the wall and working the other behind his lower back. Weak and pliable, Anduin moved to accommodate his nudging, and settled when his fingers withdrew. </p><p>All he had left to offer Anduin was his words, which he did, with as much smoothness and enthusiasm as he could dig out from beneath the fear and regret and loss weighing upon his shoulders. </p><p>“I have a bit of water left in my canteen. We could use it to clean you up a bit, if you would like. I imagine you’re feeling rather uncomfortable, and once we get you to Oribos I will beg for a bath in your honor, but for now—”</p><p>“—drink, please,” Anduin croaked through a hitch in his breath.</p><p>“Oh. Ah—yes, that too, of course.” Wrathion crawled across the floor, snatching the water skin a mage had conjured for him and returning to press it into Anduin’s dirty palms.</p><p>The king accepted, missing his mouth the first time he tried to hold it up, but jamming it between his lips on his second pass. He gulped, audibly, and furrowed his brows. </p><p>Wrathion settled on his knees beside him, clenching his hands in his lap and studying the rise and fall of the other man’s throat beneath the wretched chain of brands cutting across it. </p><p>When Anduin’s gaze unfocused and his tongue fell silent, Wrathion decided not to stir him from it. He carefully eased the water from his palms and set it aside, certain he would need it again before long. The silence that followed was heavy, plagued by questions for which Wrathion wasn’t sure he wanted the answers, punctuated by a whimper or two from the king and the click of Wrathion’s nails shuffling and re-shuffling together. </p><p>Sand hissed against the door of the cave, and somewhere in the distance, a beast howled and a soul cried out in torment. Had Anduin cried out for help while they clamped him down and used him, or had he born it in silence, like he always did, like he did now with his chin tucked to his chest and his eyes downcast?</p><p>Wrathion almost wished he would cry. A wracking sob would cut through the oppressive dark veil draped over his features, the cool hopelessness rising off him like the brilliant, warm light he usually radiated. Tears the dragon could handle. Tears would let him know his king was still in there, alive, and that the broken body wasn’t a husk of the man he had wooed and betrayed and loved. </p><p>“Your Auntie Jaina has been freed, you know,” he tried. “She’s waiting for you back in Oribos, with Miss Fordragon, Calia Menethil, Baine…”</p><p>Anduin wasn’t listening. With his temple pressed against the wall and his bleary gaze fixed on the dust by the door, he let out another empty sigh. After resting his hand atop the king’s fingers and giving them a squeeze, Wrathion rose and dug through the rest of his supplies, more for something to do than with any clear goal in mind.</p><p>“It was rather disappointing, you know,” he continued, summoning his usual affect. “Arriving in Stormwind Harbor, N’zoth dead on the deck, planning to formally celebrate our freedom only to find that dog of yours running about in a panic. He’s fine, by the way, just so we’re clear. I settled him down by assuring him I’d fly directly to Icecrown Citadel myself. I even offered him a ride, if you can imagine it, which he of course declined, but it felt the right move at the time—”</p><p>After plunging his arm into his knapsack and feeling around at the bottom, he withdrew a lump of lint and a single gold coin left over from a transaction with a champion. He tossed them both on the floor, then went in again. His nails grazed over the light scarf he had tied over his face when the dust had kicked up in the Silithid desert. A bit thin, but it was better than nothing. </p><p>With it wadded up in his palm, he returned to Anduin, shaking it out and draping it across his chest. Through the sheer white fabric, the king’s bruises dulled but didn’t vanish, gathering like dark clouds in a misty sky.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Wrathion turned and hurried back to his bag. His voice reached a crescendo to break through the jangle of its metal buckles knocking together when he grabbed it and gave it a desperate shake. “We’ll send word to him as soon as he can. I’m sure the whole of your kingdom will be relieved.”</p><p>He tossed aside his leather bound journal, a loose page or two shaking free before it hit the ground. “Though if you’d prefer, perhaps an extended vacation is in order. No one expects you to get right back to business, not with all the, uh, well—”</p><p>The dragon stopped, hating the way his words echoed off every wall. A flush overcame his cheeks, though it wasn’t the tinge of warmth that came with a tease or the full-body ache of longing he may have expected at being reunited with the king. It was a hot chill that prickled under his clammy skin, the pins and prods of shame rising like a lump in his throat. </p><p>Everything he uttered felt even more foolish and fruitless. The last thing left in his pack was a hunting knife that had sat in its sheath untouched since his arrival. There was no living flesh to consume, no touch of the cycles that governed the titans’ world in a place like this. </p><p>It was as useless to him now as it had been the day he flew through the hole in the sky. Shaking his head, he dropped his bag on the floor and turned back towards Anduin, reaching up to undo the jeweled buttons running down the front of his coat. </p><p>“You’ll have to forgive me,” he murmured as he shook the coat off his shoulders and folded it over his arm. “It’s been some time since I had someone to talk to. I’m afraid I’ve played through many conversations between us to keep me company. If you don’t feel like speaking, that’s quite all right. I am hoping to provide us both with a distraction until I track down my agents and make sure you are seen to properly.”</p><p>Anduin didn’t answer. He didn’t even nod. Swallowing, Wrathion looked past his head to the wall and eased down on one knee. After unfolding his coat, he tucked it around the king’s shoulders, then spread it down his arms to where his fingers curled in on his thighs.</p><p>When he brushed over them, they twitched and tightened. When Wrathion tried to pull back his hand, they caught his wrist, wrapping it in an iron grip.</p><p>The dragon’s crimson eyes flew open. Anduin sat with his unfeeling gaze fixed on the neckline of the dragon’s silk undershirt. When Wrathion tugged, his grip tightened. When he shook his elbow, the king’s chipped nails sank into his skin and locked his forearm in place.</p><p>There was a strength to his hold unfathomable in his broken, emaciated state, but when Wrathion stared into his eyes, he found nothing except two lightless orbs and his own scared face staring back at him. </p><p>“Ah, Anduin—?” He managed after forcing air into his lungs.</p><p>“Hn,” the king murmured, deeper and raspier than before.</p><p>“Perhaps another drink of water is in order?”</p><p>The king didn’t react. Angling his shoulder towards the water skin, Wrathion strained for it, his long nails grazing its leather surface as the hand on his wrist tugged him away. The king’s other arm shot up, past his ear, and around to tightly grip the hair at the back of his head. </p><p>His brows shot up, and he stared down into Anduin’s eyes, a gasp turning to a wince when the other man twisted and yanked him down until their noses pressed gruffly together. Forcing the air from his lungs, he huffed, curls of smoke escaping his flaring nostrils to cascade off Anduin’s cheeks. “Anduin?” he muttered. “What in Titan’s name has gotten into y—?”</p><p>The king kissed. Wrathion winced and fought to pull back, digging the heel of his hand into the pillow under Anduin’s head. Undaunted, the king tilted his chin, jamming their mouths together, sinking his teeth into the swell of Wrathion’s full lower lip... </p><p>A warm, wet tongue darted across his skin, the trail it left tingling in its absence. In spite of all his mind’s pleas, the dragon squeezed closed his eyes. His brows sank, and the next breath that came through his nose was softer, though no less ragged. </p><p>With a tilt of his head, he loosened his grip on the pillow and let the king drag him down. For an instant, they were standing under a cherry tree in full bloom, Anduin’s hand threaded through his thick curls, a soft breeze prickling the back of his neck as he pressed him against the tree, and moaned—</p><p>Titans. How long had it been since the human had kissed him like this? The tug in his chest distracted from the ache building beneath his scalp and the unrelenting pressure of his fingers against his arm. Letting his hand wander to the king’s brow, he brushed back his greasy bangs, combing out a small knot, tucking them as far back as they would stay. He rested their foreheads together, and sighed. Anduin arched his back to claim his lips in another harsh kiss, and he allowed it, returning it tentatively, but deepening when the tip of Anduin’s tongue found and toyed with his own. </p><p>As he kissed, he scooted between the king’s knees. The hard dirt beneath didn’t deter him from pressing into it, as he tried to ground his weight to prevent the king from sweeping him down completely. </p><p>“It’s been too long,” Wrathion pointed out after a time. Anduin let out a grunt in response, biting his lip, pressing the heel of his hand firmer into his neck. Wrathion opened his eyes to scan his face, but again, he found only frustration. Lowering his voice, he whispered against the king’s harshly-chapped mouth. “I’m just...worried you aren’t in the right state of mind for this. As much as it pains me, perhaps we should just…”</p><p>He let his words trail off, uncertain, indecisive in his need. He kissed again, then, summoning his strength, pushed back on his heels to put distance between their chests. The king still held his right arm, but at least he managed to loosen his grip on his skull. Averting his eyes, he drew in a breath, and, as carefully as he could manage, wedged his other hand under Anduin’s shoulder and lifted him until he could wrap him in a light embrace.</p><p>The king’s body flagged against his shoulder, his nose pressing into the curve of Wrathion’s neck. He let out a shaky exhale, and Wrathion traced a finger lightly down his spine. “I am not trying to turn you away,” he added, resting his cheek against the top of Anduin’s blond head. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to be with you like this, for years, really. But I want to see you returned to Oribos, cleaned, clothed, and then we can start again. Given what has happened to you, I, ah—I cannot, Anduin. I am sorry. I simply can’t.”</p><p>Anduin tensed. Wrathion cast a glance down at him, and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. For a moment, it seemed he had soothed him, but then a set of chipped nails dug into his back and scratched, from the exposed skin at the nape of his neck to his white silk undershirt rumbled by their sloppy embrace. </p><p>It stung. Wrathion clenched his jaw, and he shot back, but not quick enough to avoid being grabbed and flipped down onto the pillows. </p><p>“Anduin!” He demanded. “Have you not heard a thing I've been saying? You’re hurt. You’re <i>wounded</i>.” He gestured down at a particularly vicious bruise on Anduin’s side, which the king covered with his palm and tilted away to conceal. Their eyes met, and the human’s lids fluttered closed. He crawled forward, and Wrathion scooted halfway up the wall to maintain the distance between them.</p><p>All his clamoring proved insufficient when Anduin tossed aside the coat bunched in his lap and sprung, pinning Wrathion’s wrists over his head and sinking his teeth into his neck. Again, Wrathion’s body reacted, back arching, knees falling open slightly to avoid being pinned under Anduin’s thighs. The heat and fervor of his kiss left Wrathion shaking. A tremor began at his shoulder and coursed to the tips of his fingers. An ache tugged deep between his spread legs, and wetness gathered, unbidden, in his folds. </p><p>Against his thin silk pants, Wrathion feared the king might feel his body’s mounting treachery. “You’re still mad at me,” he muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if he said it to explain the king’s erratic behavior, or to remind Anduin, and himself, why this was a bad idea.</p><p>The king replied with a firm shake of his head. Shifting his hips, Wrathion squirmed, but Anduin pressed in to lock him in place. Something long and firm dragged against Wrathion’s pants, nudging his clit and sending a jolt racing through his lower body. </p><p>As he rocked up into it, his head fell back. The king bit the front of his neck, then dragged his tongue down to his collarbone, gasping, shuddering.</p><p>“Anduin, we shouldn’t be doing this.”</p><p>“Shut up.” </p><p>“...all right.” The strength in Wrathion’s musical voice crumbled and died like the dirt blowing  under the door. When Anduin kissed, he angled his head to accommodate him. When he dug his arm into the cave wall  to his right, he slackened his muscles and yielded, and when Anduin’s other hand wandered up his shirt, he had no protest ready on his tongue to stop him.</p><p>Instead, he slid down and allowed the thin cloth to be pulled up and over his head. His arm waited on the pillow, ready to be grabbed, but this time Anduin dragged his hands up Wrathion’s chest and thumbed firmly at his nipples. He planted another kiss in the hair between Wrathion’s pecs and nuzzled it with his nose. His breath was hot and his bites were strong, and whenever Wrathion fluttered his eyes the king’s visage returned brighter and paler than before.</p><p>His hair took on a pinker tint, and his dull eyes started to glow an unearthly blue hue. At first, Wrathion took it to be his own light reflecting off of him, but the more he clenched, and bit, and groaned, the deeper his voice became, until it sent a shiver prickling and scattering across Wrathion's bare skin. </p><p>“Anduin, something isn’t right,” he managed, uselessly. </p><p>The king dragged a knuckle over the thick scars lining Wrathion’s sides, and muttered, with his gaze locked on Wrathion’s face. “Vile.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>The blood drained from his cheeks; a wave of nausea washed over him in its wake, and he fought to prop himself up, staring down at Anduin's hand on his scar and shoving down the pain gripping his throat. He wanted to think he had misheard, but then Anduin, or whoever this creature was, looked up at him, and smiled. His features contorted under the strain of it.</p><p>“I came expecting to find you without a soul,” the king explained in a voice not his own, dragging his nails down his uneven flesh. “But instead, I find you with many. Fragments and pieces of siblings who couldn’t move on, all competing within you, clawing, screaming, gasping. You and I are alike in this, <i>Wrathion.</i> Our very existence inspires the torment of others. Of him.”</p><p>Anduin looked down at himself, and Wrathion snapped, flinging  forward and ripping free of the other man’s grasp. “Who are you?” He demanded, fighting his reeling thoughts. “What do you want with—?”</p><p>The man shoved his hand between Wrathion’s legs and balled up the cloth. With a jerk, he tore the seam open, exposing his sex to a rush of cool air and a palm, calloused and heartless, intent on spreading him open. </p><p>Knocking his head against the wall, the dragon kicked. He shook his legs, and when the man came to bite his shoulder, he tugged away, hardly feeling the sting of his teeth nor the trickle of blood that leaked from the wound. His head throbbed, and his thoughts swam, screams he knew he must be imagining rising and gripping the front of his mind. </p><p>So many dead. So many tortured, and taken, and stitched together, for him—</p><p>
  <i>No.</i>
</p><p>Something firm shoved between his folds and breached him, sinking in an inch or two before his body clenched around it. Staring into Anduin’s eyes, he swam in their glowing depths, seeking something, anything, that remained of the king in this husk. Possessed, or broken beyond repair, to turn into…<i>this.</i> This cold, growling, unrelenting grip on his shoulder, this unwanted thrust in his body. </p><p>His hands flew to Anduin’s neck, and he shook. When the king rolled his hips and thrust, Wrathion withdrew his arm and struck him hard across his cheek.</p><p>Staggering, the man lost his balance, his cock sliding out of Wrathion and his knee catching on his thigh as he fell against the wall. A flash of pain flickered across his features, then a gasp, low, heartfelt. </p><p>The light pouring from his eyes dimmed. With a pang, an unwillingness to see the king broken, Wrathion wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and changed their positions. </p><p>Anduin’s tangled blond head hit the pillow with a thud. Wrathion swallowed a shudder and stared him down, digging his palms into the dark runes pulsing to life on his chest, and shoving, bearing down on him.</p><p>“What have you done to the king?”</p><p>“Heh.” The man smirked, undeterred. "Now, this. This is what I expected from you."</p><p>“<i>Why?</i>” <i>How?</i></p><p>The king reached up and touched his bruised cheek, a mockery of Wrathion’s own smile that day in the throne room crossing his face. “I have no interest in you or this lovers’ dispute. You’re a distraction. I want you gone. I no longer need you to break him.”</p><p>“A distraction?” Wrathion studied him. Painfully conscious of his torn pants, he squeezed his legs closed, working his knees up between Anduin’s thighs to deny him further access. “What do you mean?”</p><p>The man’s smile remained unchanged, but when Wrathion shook him, his voice leapt to Anduin’s usual tenor. With a choke, he gasped out a desperate “Wrathion, Wrathion,” before chuckling, and continuing with a lower growl, “Moment after moment, calling for you, begging for you. What a stupid vessel, unable to tear his thoughts from you. What a waste of time.”</p><p>Wrathion stared. His hands froze around the base of Anduin’s neck, covering the runes until only glimpses of their light peeked out through the cracks in his fingers. Licking his lips, he stared down—at Anduin’s lips, his nose, his furrowed brow. This was him. He was in there somewhere. If only he could reach him, hold out his hand…</p><p>The dragon had played through this scenario so many times, all those nights he awoke in a cold sweat in the basement of Karazhan, all those days he paced circles around the Heart Chamber waiting for his champions’ tests to conclude. In each of them, it had been the void hanging upon Anduin like a mantle, a mockery of the throne he occupied and the lands he commanded. </p><p>It hadn’t been like this...this glimmer of cruelty and death dragging him down. With a frown, Wrathion loosened one of his hands and slipped a finger lightly down Anduin’s abdomen. The spirit possessing him watched with a flash of bemusement, giving Wrathion just enough time to scoot in, lean closer, and—</p><p>His lips brushed gently against Anduin’s. The human groaned, trying to force more contact, but the dragon caught the underside of his jaw and held him in place, pressing in with his nails even as his kisses themselves stayed light and meaningful.</p><p>“Anduin,” he murmured, squeezing closed his eyes and willing his heart not to race. “I know you are in there, my dear. Please, I wish there were more I could offer you, but you must fight against this. Call to the Light.” He peppered a line of kisses down his jaw. “Remember your people. Whatever you must do, just fight this. Please. Anduin, remember the Tavern in the Mists…”</p><p>A pair of hands clenched around Wrathion’s hips hard enough to bruise. He winced, and Anduin seized the opportunity to plunge his tongue into his mouth. Again, Wrathion resisted, and again, the spirit claiming the king rolled up his hips and pressed his swelling length against Wrathion’s skin. </p><p>The dragon bit down. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved. The king’s head knocked against the wall with a hollow ‘thud;' the light in his eyes flickered, and his runes darkened to black. For the briefest of moments, Wrathion caught a glimpse of hurt unfathomable, from his darkened eyes to the shudder that wracked his shoulders. </p><p>Panicked and desperate, Wrathion wrapped his hands around the top of his arms and held on. He bowed forward, pressing their noses together, and whispered through the hitch in his breath.</p><p>“Anduin. Forgive me for this. I am so sorry, but I need you to stay with me…”</p><p>He released his grip on the king’s arm and wedged his hand between their hips. His fingers wrapped around the man’s cock, impossibly hard given the hurt expression on his face. Sucking down a breath and fighting to steady himself, he guided its head over his clit and back between his folds. </p><p>Sinking down on it, he bit his lips to hold back his gasp. His wetness from before had lingered, but his body was tense and struggled to accommodate the man’s girth. Swallowing, he willed himself to relax. He imagined the king sitting beside him on his bedroom balcony, reaching over and rubbing his hand up his thigh. Oh, how he’d wanted this. How he’d needed it, conjuring images of it with his own hand working furiously to drive him to release.</p><p>His fingers found his clit once more, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb up its underside. It twitched, and a jolt rushed through him. He lifted his hips and sank back down, until the human laying underneath him gasped and dug his fingers into the crooks of his legs.</p><p>Wrathion kept his gaze trained on Anduin’s face and his hand pressed at one of the few spots between his pecs not darkened by bruising or stained by chains. </p><p>“Anduin,” he murmured through a gasp. “Please. Stay here. I know you’re here.”</p><p>The king bucked into his heat. His eyes glazed over, but when the blue light started to lick at the edges of his pupils he blinked it back. His light brows pulled together, and his gaze moved down Wrathion’s body to their point of contact.</p><p>Rubbing his chest with the side of his thumb, the dragon continued, finding his rhythm, tilting back until he could take Anduin to the hilt. </p><p>As if mesmerized, the human watched himself disappear between Wrathion’s folds. A moan escaped him, and when he tilted back against the pillows the runes on his neck had fully faded to scars. His hair was blonder, and his breaths more ragged. Loosening his grip on Wrathion’s hips, he let him move. When his eyes rolled back and he whispered, it was in his own voice, overworked, and thick with lust.</p><p>“Wrathion, is that…?”</p><p>“Anduin.” The dragon shuddered and slid down his length. “Anduin, ah—I’m here. It’s me.”</p><p>“<i>Wrathion</i>.” </p><p>Suddenly, the king grabbed him tighter, and his half-lidded eyes flew open. His gaze moved from Anduin’s chest to his face, fighting to make out the shadow of his possessor staring back from his blown-out pupils. All he found, thankfully, was Anduin: quivering, arching the small of his back off the ground. His toes curled in the sand behind him, and sweat glistened upon his creased brow. </p><p>Inside, Wrathion felt him twitch, and he clenched down on him, rubbing desperately at his own clit, throwing back his head, giving in to the king moving inside him and the hands guiding him up and down his length. </p><p>Gasping and throwing back his head, he let the quiver and heat coursing through his body consume him. He tightened, and Anduin let out a sharp cry. His muscles clenched, and the tension that had built up beneath his clit unwound in a flash and an arc that left him rigid in the king’s grip. </p><p>Anduin’s body rose up to meet him, and he bit his lip. His lower half twitched, and he released up into Wrathion. By the time he relaxed back onto the pillow, tears had gathered under his thin blond lashes. His lower lip trembled, and his chest heaved. </p><p>Fighting back the haze of his own release, Wrathion looked down at him, and panicked. “Anduin! What are you—?”</p><p>“—I, I can’t be here, Wrathion. I can’t—”</p><p>Before Wrathion could reach for him, Anduin had rolled out from under him, his slackening cock dripping the final remnants of his release down the inside of his thigh. Wincing, he pushed himself up onto his feet and staggered over to the rags Wrathion had discarded. </p><p>The dragon sprung to follow him, but the moment he got upright Anduin snatched into his bag and pulled out the hunting knife he had left at the bottom. Whirling around, he held it to Wrathion’s neck, eyes blown out and trembling lips parted in a wordless cry. </p><p>Wrathion’s heart clenched in his chest. Freezing, he held out his arms, digging his toes into the dirt to stop his knees from buckling. “Anduin, I—I didn’t know what else to do, I simply—”</p><p>“No,” Anduin shook his head, his greasy hair flying about his bruised face. “No, Wrathion, that isn’t it. I need you to stay away. Just...stay away.”</p><p>“But I want to—”</p><p>“—I don’t care what you want. I’m not safe, Wrathion. I’m not safe for you, or for Jaina, or Baine. Please. Please leave this place. Your agents were taken to Perdition Hold. I need you to get them, return to Oribos, warn Bolvar and the others, I—”</p><p>A shriek pierced the air outside, the shrill sound shooting to Wrathion’s head and making him falter. His hand flew to his temple, and when he squeezed closed his eyes, he could hear the cries within him, too. Staggering to the side, he pressed his free hand against the wall as the world around him spun. </p><p>Tossing the knife on the ground, Anduin turned and made for the door. At the threshold, he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, meeting Wrathion’s wide-eyed stare. </p><p>With a blink and a shake of his white-pink hair, he yanked open the makeshift door and disappeared into the hissing wind. As Wrathion sank to the floor where the king had lain, he grabbed for a pillow, and used it to muffle his choke. </p><p>The fabric still smelled of dirt, and sweat, and blood. Curling against the wall, the dragon held it to him for what might as well have been an eternity. Finally, he crawled to his coat, wrapped it around himself, blinked back his tears, and stepped out into the howl.</p>
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